Ferrier of Souls
by liz3386
Summary: 8 years and 11 months as Captain of the Flying Dutchman. Some days are easy, but the most trying days come with the souls that remind Capt. Turner of the ones he left behind. PostAWE. Things aren't always as they seem...COMPLETE! but fixing typos.
1. Chapter 1: Ferrier of Souls

Ferrier of Souls

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story. Don't sue me, please.

Captain's Log

8 Years, 11 Months, 4 Days, 16 Hours

Each hour feels like a day, each day an eternity.

Today I ferried a family across this great eternal undead sea. A fair-haired mother, two sons, and a baby daughter who was the spitting image of one I used to know.

Some days, this task is easy, especially when I have quiet souls contemplating their lives, or rambunctious men chatting like fools and livening up the crew with stories from the world. Tall tales and ghost stories usually give us all a chuckle. For we have seen more ghosts and legends made and broken across these waves in a matter of minutes than what some storyteller can dream up in a lifetime. We are the ghosts and phantoms that haunt children's dreams, yet the world still goes on living and dying and sending me their dead.

But like I said, today I ferried a family. The hardest part about this eternity is not the labor of ferrying people, guiding them to their afterlife between the land of the living and land of the dead. Oh no, the hardest part is seeing people that remind me of home; that remind me of the people I love…Eliz…

I ferried a family today. Two smart young lads barely four years apart. The youngest was solemn and big eyed. He studied everything and I could tell he was just itching to ask questions that even I couldn't answer. He watched and he learned. He would have made a good scholar had he lived.

The older boy was built like a firecracker. Solid, quick, and ready to explode. He could hardly sit still for even a moment. He even wanted to be at the helm directing our course. When I asked him if he was afraid of death, as is part of my charge, he simply looked me straight in the eye for a solid minute. "No sir," he said, "I ain't afraid, but I'd like another adventure before I die."

Another adventure. Funny how little he knows about death. Why, it's the biggest adventure there is.

The mother and the babe were perhaps the hardest members to ferry; not because they got in the way or anything, but because the two of them were well…I don't know. The mother had these lively eyes like her younger son and yet I could sense it wasn't just her eyes that were lively. She just felt too alive to be on my ship. Additionally, she kept humming to her dear babe nestled so serenely in her arms. The picture was too perfect, too alive. The scar across my chest began to ache. Didn't they know they were dead?


	2. Chapter 2: A Captain Errand

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 2: A Captain's Errand

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am, however, borrowing them for this story. Don't sue me, please.

--

"Captain."

Captain Turner looked up from his journal. He had been bent over his desk for nigh an hour. His hand ached for wood soaked in salt, not the pen he held. He looked towards one of his crew members. What was his name? Bonson? Benny? Bale? Whatever his name, he was a rather new member, too mousy to take on death, but bold enough to bother his captain. Bale. Bale sounded right.

"Yes, Bale?"

"It's them kids, Capt'n. They be driving the crew mad, sir."

"Mad? Are you telling me that the very crew that has seen the depths of hell itself can't handle a couple of kids?" Turner smiled. He always loved how inept his crew's social skills were.

"Well…no, Capt'n. I ain't exactly saying that. I just…"

"Go swab a deck or something, Bale. Tell the crew it'll be handled." With that, Captain Turner left his lodgings and trespassed into the bowels of his ship, leaving a goose-eyed Bale merely gaping after the guardian of his soul.

--

Now down in the very darkest recesses of the Flying Dutchman, it must be said, there was a man, a man who had once been wood and barnacles and decay. This man, who had lost too many deadly games of liar's dice, had spent more years of service upon that ship than any soul to date--a near five centuries aboard the Flying Dutchman, paying his debt. He was the man, once monster, that Captain Turner sought to entertain the children, to entertain the family that had already begun to haunt his thoughts.

"Wyvern." The old decrepit man opened an eye and stared off into the black abyss towards the voice.

"Who calls?"

"Your captain."

"Jo…Jo….Jones?"

Turner sympathized for the man who feared his predecessor so thoroughly. So absolute was his fear that he frequently forgot he was no longer a part of the ship or that his captain was no longer Davy Jones. Yet sympathy was not always the best trait for a sea-captain of scalawags and vagabonds.

"No, Wyvern, your _current_ captain."

"Oh, Capt'n Turner. How…how might I be of service?"

"We have a couple of children aboard that need to be…otherwise occupied, at least until we reach our heading. Tell a few tales and keep them away from anything of importance."

"Aye, aye," said the feeble old goatish man. Stories and relaying information were Wyvern's specialty. Turner often turned to him for bits of legend, particularly those bits dealing with the undead. In fact, if it hadn't been for Wyvern, Turner would never have known Davy Jones' weakness, now his weakness.

_Open the chest with the key, and stab the heart. No-no-no-no. Don't stab the heart. The Dutchman needs a living heart, or there'll be no captain. And if there's no captain, there's no one to have the key_.

Yes, he would bring the little family down here, away from his crew and perhaps hear a dark tale from the old man patiently serving his undead years in shadows, while ignoring the ever present gnawing in his gut that something wasn't quite right aboard the Flying Dutchman.


	3. Chapter 3: Warm Hands

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 3: Warm Hands

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story. Please don't sue me.

As for the mythology, well that doesn't exactly belong to me either, but the way I string together is of my creation…so uh hope you enjoy my blatant use of characters that aren't my own.

--

Two young pairs of shoes stepped lively down the stairs following the more worn pirate boots. They were entering the very substructure of the ship. A gruff old man badly in need of a shave stared back at the two boys. Their mother and baby sister soon following their footsteps, the little family settled in for a good distraction.

Thus Wyvern, a natural storyteller, began, "What do you lads know of the dread legends of the Flying Dutchman?"

"It's just a legend, ain't it? A haunted ship doomed to sail the seven seas forever," the elder boy spoke confidently.

"It's real, Jack!" the younger lad piped up. "Captained by Davy Jones, whom some say is the very devil himself, the Flying Dutchman ain't no bedtime story!"

"Oh, get real Weatherby. Ghost ships don't exist and Davy Jones is just some monster in your baby closet. Grow up already."

"Lads, lads," Wyvern whispered enticingly. The two bickering boys slowly let their hot words fall to the floor. "Ghosts ships are quite real and Davy Jones did once captain the infamous Flying Dutchman…" Wyvern glanced slyly at Captain Turner, "but perhaps that's saying too much. Listen if you will to a tale of old…

--

Long ago when sea-monsters ruled the oceans and merpeople obeyed the tides, when fish could sing and birds could swim, when the seas were yet untouched by man, the pagan gods charged a very cranky skinny old fellow with the task of ferrying dead souls across the River Styx. For too many souls were lost and did not know how to reach the lands beyond life.

Now this very old cantankerous gentleman was mostly skin and bones himself. He was oft confused for being a member of the dead. Yet he and his rickety old boat would ferry souls from one side of the Acheron to the other. Cranky, though he was, Charon insisted on following his charge to the letter. The god Hermes brought him the souls to care for until he could deliver them to kingdom of Dis. If a soul was not buried properly, then it would wander the Stygian shores for one hundred years before Charon could carry it across the black, eternal river.

Then one day a soul not dead insisted upon being ferried. A strong man with a lion skin upon his back demanded passage saying he was half a god. Assuming that half a god would do the bidding of the gods, Charon gave Herakles passage. But do you know what that man did? He stole Dis's pet and gatekeeper, a massive three headed dog named Cerberus. Herakles claimed it was the final labor he had to perform in order to redeem himself for some otherwise unsaid crime. Some claim he had killed his wife and children, others say a queen among goddesses simply despised him. Who's to say for sure what the reason for the labor was, but there he was at the gates of the underworld stealing a dog too big to carry or subdue by any mere mortal means. And who do you think got in trouble? Herakles? Oh no, he was the son of a god. No, poor Charon was imprisoned a hundred years for ferrying a living being across the River Styx.

Thus the story goes that the heathen gods held a caucus to find a new ferrier of souls. The new charge had to be diligent and mindful of his purpose. Many have carried that long and proud tradition since.

While Charon was otherwise indisposed, the gods chose Anubis as guardian and guide to the dead. He was a funny sort of man-god. While dressing like a jackal, he was truly the first to keep a weathered eye for souls whether night or day. He watched out for them and weighed their souls. Yet his gods fell from favor and so his duty was forfeited to next in line.

Other well known guardians of the dead included Yama, the first man to have died first before receiving the title, and Ankou, a Breton who insisted on using a rickety cart instead of a boat.

Yet as time wore on, the pagan gods decided a ship could ferry souls far better than a raft or cart. A sea worthy ship fit to sail for centuries, millenniums. By this time, however, men had begun to tame the seas. Their ships could fare the winds and rains with much less effort than anything any one god could fathom, so the gods went looking for men and ships to ferry the dead. Yet as any captain will tell you, no man is ever willing to give up his ship freely whether it be for man, woman, or god.

Fortunately for the pagan gods, however, a mortal made a mistake. A dastardly man made a deal with a devil. A fair gambler by the name of Captain Falkenburg bet his ship, the Flying Dutchman, against his soul and lost in one fail swoop of the dice. The gods had a ship easily and understandably cursed to sail until Judgment Day. What more could they want?

Well, once again the gods needed a man _willing_ to ferry souls, to do his duty for all eternity was better than a captain who had just lost his ship. When the goddess Calypso fell in love with such a mortal man and he with her…well then Davy Jones was charged with the duty as per the gods and particular goddess' request. Yet should he ever loose his purpose in his way, his mortality would slip from him forever separating him from the woman he loved…for heartstrings are always the tightest bonds on any man. The gods allowed one day on land for every ten years at sea. Thus Davy Jones sailed the Flying Dutchman rescuing souls and ferrying them to the other side for ten years when…

--

"But the Flying Dutchman isn't real is it?" Jack asked.

"Oh, me boy, it is as real as you and me." Wyvern then stared hard at the family. "Ferry the souls, Capt'n. No. no. no. Only ferry the dead. Those be the real orders upon which this charge is based. The Flying Dutchman needs to fly tonight."

Captain Turner furrowed his brows at his subordinate. Wyvern hadn't spoken cryptically since he had first met the old sailor. What had gotten into him? Perhaps the exertion had been too much for him, telling such a long history. He gripped his storyteller's shoulder in thanks and received a boggle-eyed frightened look in return.

"Come along now boys, let's go see if ol' Bootstrap will let you at the helm," he said as he started to lead the little family back up the stairs.

Just as the boys began to race toward the light of day, however, Captain Turner felt a warm hand reach for his own shoulder.

"My sincerest gratitude, Captain, for entertaining my sons. They do so love stories," the little mother smiled before glancing down at her sleeping babe, "don't they, Elizabeth?" As she slipped by the Captain following her sons towards the upper decks, Captain Turner couldn't help but feel a chill run up and down his spine. It wasn't the name that thrilled him, although it should have, but rather the warmth that permeated from the mother's hands. Even an uneducated undead man such as himself knew that without blood running through a corpse's veins, neither the body nor the spirit can generate heat.

Thus the captain had to ask himself, "Don't they know they're supposed to be dead?"


	4. Chapter 4: Captain's Promise

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 4: Captain's Promise

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am, however, borrowing them for this story. Please don't sue me.

--

Captain's Log

8 Years, 11 Months, 4 Days, 20 Hours

Every hour a day; every day an eternity.

The sea has been unusually calm today and the wind seems as undead as this ghostly vessel. If Gibbs were here, he'd probably cite some bad omen. I wonder if this time I would believe him…

Night has fallen upon the ship and the little family I've been ferrying have finally gone to sleep. I never cease to be amazed by how much sleep the dead think they need. I suppose it's more of a habit than an actual need, though. God only knows how much I used to sleep during my first year on this side of the horizon, but I can't help but wonder at the newly departed souls now.

Then again, I know my crew would say they're glad to have a respite from the little buggers. Those boys are certainly a handful. Bale aptly named them "the ankle-biters". Always in the way, forever underscoring my crew's efforts. Yet they have their charms about them too, I suppose. While my men do grumble that the boys be hell's demons, I can tell the men are equally beginning to love the boys like shipmates. They have this innate curiosity that is as ineffable as it is insatiable. Every time one of my crew has to explain what they're bloody doing, I can tell somewhere deep inside they like explaining, teaching as it were. Of course, many of my men were fathers killed before their time and this little family is growing on them as if it were their own.

I, on the other hand, still feel there's something not quite right about them. It's as if they are hiding something. I know I'm supposed to let the dead rest in peace and let them take their secrets to the grave and all that clichéd nonsense, but when my passengers keep secrets that could do harm to this ship I can't help but put my foot in the doorway as it were.

Tomorrow, I swear, I'm going to get to the bottom of this despite any and all attachment my crew may bear them.


	5. Chapter 5: Bootstraps and Rope

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 5: Bootstraps

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda: please don't sue me.

Author's note: Due to a piece of constructive criticism from the last chapter's reviews, I decided to double the length of this chapter a bit. Really the information here covers what I would have separated into two chapters, but oh well. Hope you all enjoy and thanx again for all the great reviews.

--

"Couldn't sleep?"

Captain Turner smiled and made his way up to the helm towards his father. The subject of sleep had long been an inside joke between them. Hardly any of the crew slept these days, they just "rested". In other words, they drank rum and played cards below deck whenever the passengers were presumed to be sleeping. It was a healthy routine to rest wearied muscles after a long day's work, but what health meant to the undead, the captain wasn't altogether sure.

"Aye, couldn't fall asleep for the life of me."

His father smiled at their routine punch-line. "Aye, Captain Turner, me neither." He turned the helm slightly to adjust the ship to the sea. Despite the joke being nearly eight years old, it still amused the two sailors; and yet, something was off about William on this night. Bootstraps glanced over this son and instantly read his body language like a book.

William was worn. Despite having turned his back to study the waves, old Bootstrap could tell his son was looking over the overly calm waters too intently to actually be thinking of the sea. His shoulders were stiff as he leaned forward and his knuckles were white from clenching the railing too hard. Whatever worried the captain worried the helmsman; and whatever worried a son also worried a father.

"Something the matter, William?"

For a solid minute, his captain did not answer. He simply stared. "Probably not, but maybe. I don't know. I can't put my bloody finger on it, but something isn't right aboard this ship."

"It is a ghost ship, Capt'n. There's nothing ever right about that. Too many haunted souls."

"No, it isn't that. That feeling is familiar, that feels right. No, it's this new something…something else. I can't shake the feeling that not all the souls on this God forsaken ship are well…dead to put simply."

"It's that woman, isn't it?" In the nearly nine years that Mr. Turner and Captain Turner have sailed together, a sort of familiarity had struck up between them. No other man or passenger would ever have been able to get away with asking such an audacious question, but his father could ask it. "She reminds you of Eliza…"

"No, it isn't that," William interrupted. "I mean, it isn't just that. Not this time," he whispered gruffly as he continued to look at the sea. For some reason, he just couldn't look at his father until he knew he could handle the torrent of ideas swirling through his head. Too many ideas…and all of them centering on the family now sleeping soundly in his cabin.

Of course, while his back was turned, Bootstrap looked at his son knowingly. They've had this problem before. Young William would see a delicate hand, a slip of hair, or a certain expression on a pretty face and be overcome with thoughts of Elizabeth. Those thoughts would eventually lead William to frustration with his fate and a week long tacit melancholy. Usually, though, he just urged the crew to work harder to get the ship across the sea faster. For the sooner such folks were safely deposited, the better. William, despite how hard he tried, just never realized how readable he was. Eight years as a captain of an undead ship and he just couldn't see how not dead his locked up thoughts and feelings were. William, as his father knew, did his duty to the letter, but then that letter never said anything about enjoying his ten year stint in an undead and dying sea.

"Father?" William's question once again interrupted his father's thoughts. "Have you ever heard of a spirit without cold hands?"

"I've heard of a couple of bodies without hands, son, almost any sailor alive or dead can tell you tale about some accident or another."

"No, I mean a spirit with warm hands, a corpse with blood still running through its veins."

Bootstraps looked sharply at his son. Good God, what sort of notions had the boy been cooking up in his head? "Only in the occult, other-worldly stuff if you ask me."

"Right. I knew it sounded mad, but…I could have sworn…"

"Of course, Captain Turner, we do be living in the other world." Now it was his son who looked at his father. Could there be an explanation for all this bizarre activity and foul air?

"What do you know?"

Before Bootstrap could say another word, however, both the sailors with eyes ever trained on the horizon saw in their periphery a dingy gliding toward the Flying Dutchman with a single lantern glowing an unearthly shade of yellow. A soul boat. Their conversation would have to be postponed temporarily as they retrieved yet another soul to ferry. Bootstrap remained behind at the helm as his son prepared to do his eternal duty toward the starboard side.

--

As the small boat neared, it bore not one but two souls intertwined and asleep in their deathly embrace. Usually when Captain Turner discovered boated souls, there would merely be only one soul per dingy, with few exceptions. Even the small family below deck had come by waves and separated boats. Due to some higher exclusion clause, however, the sole souls that could break the ghostly de facto law were identical twins and lovers; and since the two in the little boat were certainly not twins, Captain Turner had to presume he would be inviting a pair of soul mates aboard his vessel.

"Ho there," the captain cupped his hands and shouted. "You two, rouse yourselves! I offer you passage!"

The girl awoke first, blinked, and rubbed her slumberous eyes. When she saw a man motioning for her row closer to the massive ship, she began to untangle herself from her lover's embrace. "James, darling, wake up," she gently shook the youth beside her. "Darling, I do believe we are being rescued from this horrid nightmare. Wake up."

"I, hmuamm," the youth responded.

"Get up, you lazy bones," she lightly chuckled as she grabbed an oar. "Or in the water you'll go." Then to make good on her threat, she cupped a handful of water and splashed her sweetheart awake.

"Humammum!" With his reverie so rudely interrupted, he stirred himself out of his sombrous sleep. "Martha," he began to grumble, but then he too finally caught a glimpse of the Flying Dutchman and her captain. Thus, he grabbed the other oar and helped his dew bird row.

---

Captain Turner tossed the pair a good, strong rope over the side of his ship. "Can she climb?" he called below.

"No, sir. She's not exactly a sea-worthy lass!" James called back.

"Then tie the rope around her waist and make sure she has a firm hold. I'll pull her up."

"Aye, aye, sir."

After a few moments of giggles from the girl and grunts from the boy, the two lovebirds finally had Martha somewhat safely secured in the rope, at least enough to allow Turner to hoist the girl. Soon, with a sheen of slight sweat on his brow, Turner heaved the rope one hand over the other until he saw her pale paw grip the deck. He, then, reached for that hand in order to fully pull her into the ship. Yet when his hand touched hers, he almost dropped her back into the murky waters below. That fragile, feminine hand had nearly seared his skin right off with how hot it was. She was warm, warm as any living thing. Captain Turner still captain of his glorified ferryboat recalled in that instance that whether or not blood pumped through her undead hands, he still had his own duty to perform. Hence while lifting her up, he asked, "Do you fear death?" in an astounded whisper.

She, that bonny lass, simply gazed up at her savior and coyly giggled, "What a peculiar question, sir. We feared for a moment most terribly, but then you came along. We thank you heartily."

The captain nearly sputtered at her response. "You are…welcome and…your passage is freely given." He could hardly get the blasted words out past his heavy tongue and dry lips. "This ship will ferry you till we reach the heading."

Martha merely nodded her consent to his offer and began to untangle herself from the knotted mess of rope her lover had put her. Then as Turner began to ready himself to hoist the lad into his ship as well, he couldn't help but wonder that his hand still felt the burn of the girl's touch.


	6. Chapter 6: Haunted Dreams

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 6: Haunted Dreams

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

--

Will suddenly felt exhausted. He had both the little family and the pair of young lovers settled in his captain's quarters now all sleeping. The family was wholesomely…well perfect, and the newlywed sweethearts were perfectly wholesome. Despite his misgivings about the strange warmth permeating from some of his passengers, he chose for that moment to let them all rest. For it had been quite a long day and very trying on everyone's nerves. Perhaps even his nerves had been tried to their excess, as well. Hence, instead of returning to the upper deck, Captain Turner decided it was best to sneak into the cargo area for a small respite.

He gathered a few gunny sacks together next to one of the port holes and settled in for a lengthy introspective. In spite of his best intentions and resolve, however, William Turner's eyelids habitually grew heavy and soon he found himself asleep for the first time in nine months.

--

_Young Will watched as his mother took a warm brick from near the fire and place it under the covers at the foot of his wee bed. She was truly lovely tonight, he thought, with the glow of the fire illuminating her fine mousy brown hair. The silver at her temples belied her years; he knew she was much younger than she looked; and while usually her eyes were tired and worried, on this night they were bright. For on that day, a parcel had arrived from his father, the merchant. Her whole being was brighter, shinier, since the sailor had brought it. _

"_Sweet William," she cooed to her son. "Your father sent you a gift, too." _

_He was aching most curiously to know what his father had sent him this time. Sometimes they were given money or small trinkets. Once his father even sent him a speller and a new quill to help with his education. Whatever his father sent from across the seven seas, it would be treasured in this household._

_William then observed as his mother went to her sewing box and pulled out a coarse brown string. He noted how she threaded it through one of her thicker needles prior to returning to the parcel. His mother then took out a solid gold coin with the most bizarre markings, smiled at her son, and put the coin on the string. "My dear boy, carry this next to your heart and remember your father. He wrote in his letter that above all else he wanted you to have this. May it bring you luck, as your dear dad hopes." She then placed the newly made necklace around her son's neck and tucked a piece of his wild hair behind his ear. "Sleep well, darling."_

_--_

_Fire. Black sails. Pirates. He had cried out for his mother, but she was already gone, drowned with the rest of the crew. The smoke was already billowing up from the massive wreckage—all that was left of the 'Lady Bell', all that was left of the life he knew. And yet, all he could think of was to stay afloat, to stay awake. Everything else seemed hopeless and as bittersweet as his mother's parasol floating in the sea. He was alive, but his whole life, his mother, was dead. He touched the coin around his neck, fingering the patterns inlaid with gold as he gradually let his exhausted eyes droop into a dreamless slumber._

_--_

_William suddenly gasped. He wasn't in the water anymore and he could hear sounds other than waves splashing in his ears—men's voices and heavy footsteps. Pirates? No… a girl. A girl?_

"_It's okay. My name's Elizabeth Swann."_

"_Wil...Will...Will Turner." He sputtered out._

"_I'm watching over you, Will." And for some reason, he believed her._

_--_

Two sets of footsteps fell upon the wooden stairs unheard.

--

"_Will!"_

_William glanced behind him towards the door of the smithy. There was Elizabeth as beautiful as ever while he was covered with sweat and dirt from the furnace. 'Perfect,' he thought. 'Just the way to make an impression, revolt her into loving you.'_

"_Miss Swann."_

"_Will, call me Elizabeth."_

_He held back his smile, for while he did love that she continually insisted they use more familiar terms, he knew now was not the time to accept that offer. She was perfect, like a goddess on a golden pedestal, and he was a blacksmith. Never would there be a time to accept that offer. _

"_To what do I owe the honor of your company?" he inquired as he awkwardly went in search for something to clean his hands and face. _

"_My father has a request to make of Mr. Brown. A most special and secretive request," she handed Will a sealed envelope bearing the governor's stamp. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone was being promoted. The whole household is in a tussle with plans and arrangements," she said absently as she examined some of his newly made swords. She was clearly impressed by the workmanship of the gold and silver inlaid handles, but William was more impressed with her._

_He loved how freely Elizabeth spoke, how openly about personal happenings in her life. If he hadn't been such a lowly blacksmith apprentice, he would have said they were friends. _

"_I'll be sure to have Mr. Brown acknowledge this as soon as possible then, Miss Swann, but…" Would he risk it? Yes, yes he would. "Forgive me, but I must ask, why did your father not send the request with a messenger? Your household has enough servants not to warrant you having to come and risk soiling your dress." The smithy was notorious for dirt and grim, sawdust and sweat. He himself was living proof of that._

"_Why William Turner I wanted to drop by on a childhood friend." She touched his arm in a friendly gesture before starting to pout. "You hardly come to the manor anymore what with your duties here. If I did not think better of it, I would perceive you to be avoiding me. In fact, I expect an apology is in order on your part, good sir." _

_Confused by both her words and actions, he began to sputter, "Well, I, uh…" before he noticed the twinkle in her eyes. She was teasing him! "My most humble regrets, Miss Swann," he smiled and bowed his head like a gentleman. "Unintentional, I do assure you." _

_Before they could continue in their little repartee, however, Elizabeth's maid tapped on the smithy door and reminded Miss Swann of her other engagements. _

"_You're quite forgiven on all accounts, Will, on the condition that you do not remain a stranger in our home. Honestly," Elizabeth grew more serious, "you are welcome any time." She dropped her hand from his arm and began to make her way back towards the street._

"_Thank you, Miss Swann."_

"_Call me Elizabeth."_

"_Perhaps the next time…" he whispered, but she was already out the door._

_--_

_He paced up and down the corridor. They were getting married today. He never thought it could happen, but today was the day, their wedding day. With the sun safely tucked behind the growing number of clouds, he twitched and nit-picked at his clothes. Everything had to be perfect. All that was left was a knock at the door to tell him she was ready for him, a groomsman's knock to say his fiancée was ready to say their vows._

_He paced up. He paced down. The clacks of his shoes echoed throughout the long corridor. A knock, a motion, a word, that was all he wanted. Despite the long and adventuresome days with the infamous Jack Sparrow, this day was by far longer and more steeped in adventure. His marriage to Elizabeth Swann was a day he wanted to commit to memory in the smallest detail. _

_A door began to open. His chest began to swell, now was the time. But on the other side of that door had not been his groomsman or a Swann servant, rather it had been the East Indian Trading Company coming to arrest him. A cloud burst into a shower of rain and he wondered, "Will Elizabeth ever forgive me?"_

_--_

_William felt the Flying Dutchman sink beneath the waves as his heart was being carved from his chest. Everything was so hazy and distorted. He knew he had been stabbed and had already taken his last breath. Yet he was still conscious and could still feel Elizabeth's warmth beside him despite her already having left his side._

_The waves were engulfing the ship and then time stood still. The sea monsters that had once been men endured in place as if they were marble instead of flesh, his father pressing a dagger against his chest. A bright light then flashed and he stood before a company of pagan gods, large and encompassing, in some unearthly realm. He had been pulled from space and time by their power; the least he could do was listen to what they had to say._

_Addressing him with command, each heathen god began a sentence while another finished in ritualistic fashion. 'You, William Turner, have cut the heart of Davy Jones. By the laws and decrees of the gods and your predecessor's mandates, you, having destroyed the last ferrier of souls, must in his stead take up his duties." He killed Davy Jones? Had he really?_

_William looked about him. The space, for it could only be called space, was wide and expansive. In his hands, he saw he carried a broken sword and while his mind reeled at the implications, creatures and things lurked about the space, things best left to nightmares and paradise, heaven and hell. In an instant, he saw time itself personified with horror and beauty. Jack had used his hand to stab the heart with his last breath and the gods were giving him a choice, a choice to die or serve._

_A powerful goddess then stepped forward and smiled evilly as she gripped the chains of an old bearded sailor tighter. "A touch of destiny be in this boy. Let him captain the Flying Dutchman without his heart." Then the sailor, who looked vaguely like old Davy Jones, warned, "For every day you walk on the dry land of the living, boy, you must serve ten years ferrying souls to the land of the dead. That duty is sacred and eternal and if you ever lose your purpose," Calypso pulled his bonds even tighter as a reminder, "you lose your soul." _

"_Yet," another goddess began, "if he finds a thing that is true in a decade of his service, his soul and purpose will no longer be bound to the ship. Another will be found in his stead."_

"_As is the law of the gods," yet another pagan god boomed. "Do you, William Turner, wish to be he that ferries souls? Do you accept the duties in which you will charged to carry?"_

_William looked down at the broken sword and saw right at the tip was a barnacled heart slowly beating. Another day with Elizabeth? "I do," he said evenly as he drove the broken tip of the sword into the heart._

_In a flash as sudden as first, William was back on the Flying Dutchman taking his last heartfelt breath. His father's dagger began to dig into his chest as the waves engulfed the ship that would now be his. The ship needed a living heart and the Flying Dutchman needed its new captain. He accepted his duties and the ship began to be transformed. A steep price would have to be paid for what was done, but another day with Elizabeth was worth it all. _

_--_

"…_and you're completely obsessed with treasure." Jack Sparrow told him in his own brand of factual manner._

"_That's not true," Will responded indignantly. "I'm not obsessed with treasure."_

"_Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate."_

_--_

"Elizabeth…" the word escaped Captain Turner's lips as he slumbered away.

"There's more than one destiny in this man," Martha stated as looked the mother and infant beside her.

"Yes," the mother replied, "a strong love even without his heart. We chose well the parts to play. Mother, wife, and child—the things he desires most."

"He will do," the infant spoke with a voice much older than her form. Her eyes glowed white as she then bore her gaze upon the sleeping captain. "Yes, he will do quite nicely."


	7. Chapter 7: Discord

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 7: Discord

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

Author's Note: I changed the rating of this story. Things are getting grimmer and younger readers may not want to read this. Consider yourselves warned.

--

Captain Turner gasped awake and looked out the port hole. It was already daylight. Had he really slept that long? He rubbed his face trying to wake himself up even more. "Ahhhagggah." He shook himself and got up off his make-shift gunny sack bed.

The cargo deck was empty and yet he could not shake the feeling someone else had been there. It was the same unnerving feeling that he had in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. This time, however, he wasn't just going to shrug it off. It was time to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Since his father believed the problem merely lied with Elizabeth, Captain Turner decided to once again trespass into the lower decks and seek out Wyvern. Since he had spent so much time as part of the crew and part of the ship, Wyvern could still hear the wooden planks tell their tales despite his mortal ears. If anyone was to know the old other-worldly tales on his ship, it would be Wyvern.

"Wyvern!" the captain called out into the dark shadows. No answer. "Wyvern! Your captain is commanding you to show yourself!"

A ragged voice finally whispered a response. "Ferry the souls, Capt'n, but only the dead. Only the dead souls can you ferry. Fly, birdies, fly. The Flying Dutchman holds no cages. Ferry souls, Capt'n, but never your own and always your own…"

"Wyvern! Focus!" What had gotten into this man? He was by far more cryptic than he had ever been. "What has spooked you so?"

Wyvern's eyes suddenly seemed to focus. "The daughters of Achelous." After that he said no more.

--

A scream came from above. Captain Turner immediately rushed towards the source of that blood curdling scream. On one of the upper decks a crowd of men and the young lass called Martha stood gapping around some thing, a mauled and clawed thing sitting in a pool of blood. Martha's husband pulled his wife away from the scene and let her weep into his shoulder.

As Captain Turner neared, he smelled the foulest odor, the scent of real death. Sure they all knew the smell, it was an odor that attached itself to every new arrival on this side of the horizon, but this…this was carnage. This was not a mere scent, but an overwhelming obnoxious fume. It was the smell of one twice dead, the death of an undead.

"Move!" Captain Turner shouted to the crowd of people. He had to see for himself what or who was giving off such a stench. Then there, in the middle of crowd, was the remains of a man lying in his torn blood soaked clothes. The man was nearly unrecognizable. Yet as the captain went in for a closer look, he recognized the buttons of the departed's waistcoat. Bale.

Bale, the newest member of his crew, was dead. The scratching and the clawing, the sheer battering of his body suggested…no, it was too gruesome to even think about…but it appeared as if he had be _eaten_ to death. Bale, who had feared death and not his captain, was now something other than dead, for his soul had been devoured—truly a thing worse than death.

Now was not the time for mercy nor sympathy. Now was the time for action. "Answers!" he shouted toward his crew. "I want answers, _now_!" When no one answered, Captain Turner began to seethe. "He's one of you, can't you tell? That…thing there was one of my crew! I want to know what any of ya saw or heard last night. I want to know who was the last to see Bale alive!"

"Nobody knows nothing, Capt'n," answer a courageous mariner after a few moments of disquieted silence. "The last anyone saw of young Bale, he was leaving the dice game, said he heard something."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing, Capt'n," another sailor answered. "The next thing anyone knows was the scream."

"Bale's?"

"No, sir, the young lass there. She be the one who found him."

Captain Turner looked over his crew's faces. "Are you all telling me that whatever did this to Bale didn't make him scream?" He was angry.

"Did _you_ hear anything last night, Capt'n?"

His anger suddenly vaporized. No, he had been asleep. He hadn't heard a thing. While he didn't say a word, his crew knew he hadn't heard the slightest noise, just like the rest of them. Last night had been one of the calmest, quietest nights they had had in a long time.

So, instead of answering their question, Captain Turner ordered, "I want all my men to be on your guard. Something is on my ship and I want it gone. You hear the slightest murmur of something fishy and I wanna know about it. Is that understood?"

A general buzz of ascent answered him. "I said, is that understood!"

"Aye, aye Capt'n," the mob shouted somberly. Despite them all being on intimate terms with death and the dying, none of them expected this. The undead were not supposed to die, especially not like this. Death was supposed to loom ahead of them like a fearful beast, but that beast was supposed to be tamed, not wild, not like this. They were supposed to be in charge of their own souls, but as everyone now knew, "supposed to" no longer applied.

"Disperse," Captain Turner further ordered. "Manning, Greenly, clean up this mess."

The crowd began to dissipate into smaller numbers grumbling and whispering worriedly. Some began to question the captain and his protection from death. Others sent furtive glances at anyone that looked at them the wrong way, but the most telling words came across the rabble loud and clear.

Not all monsters are scales and bone; sometimes they are made of flesh.


	8. Chapter 8: Baleful Eternity

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 8: Baleful Eternity

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

Author's Reminder: This story began at 8 years, 11 months, 4 days, and 16 hours for those of you getting confused about the timeline.

--

Captain's Log

8 Years, 11 Months, 5 Days, 7 Hours

Every hour a day; every day an eternity…but eternity never is as it seems.

Something has spooked my men this morning and I'm afraid to say it has spooked me as well. Sure, we've dealt with undead sea creatures before, massive beasts that believe they can still devour whole ships. That undead Kraken certainly put up a fight, but this time is different. Before, the creatures only _think_ they can still cause harm. Like eating and sleep, it is a hard habit to break believing you can still be the cause of mass destruction, but once the first or second attempt goes array, then the creatures eventually figure it out. The same rules do not apply on this side of the horizon. Once they conceive of that concept, they'll drift back into the open waters towards whatever heaven and hell there is for sea monsters. But this new beastie is an altogether different matter.

For one thing, we don't know what we are up against. Is it invisible? Invulnerable? Does it have a master? Is it below the waves, or more importantly, is it already on my ship?

I've heard the rumors whispered through doorways and between the cracks. There was a death upon the Flying Dutchman—and if there is one thing I know, my men, all my men fear death. They are as frightened and scared as new untrained cabin boys wetting themselves with the slightest strange sound.

I have to admit, at first I thought it might be one of my passengers bringing this upon us. I've heard a few tales of lost souls purposely staying lost only to avoid the judgment of hell. The heathen gods tend to also torture them the most until they can be ferried to the other side, but these passengers…I don't know. They seemed just as frightened as my crew, not the types of souls to avoid death through pagan punishments. The women, of course, put on brave faces while the new husband challenged me to a duel.

My heart would have bled for the boy, had I had one, for he possessed neither sword nor pistols, and his fists were well…I could tell his hands had never seen a good hard fight or a day's labor in his life. He had soft womanly hands and they would have been torn to bits had I chosen to enter into his "duel"…however one sided it might have been. I must confess, though, I was tempted just to let off steam. But when he began shouting at me and my crew, he had decided to shove me and I could feel how blasted cold those hands were. He was as dead as the rest of us and just as scared. James, I think his name was, merely wanted my vow of protection for his wife.

Now that I think about it, he reminds me too much of myself as his age. When I had discovered Jack Sparrow was the pirate that threatened Elizabeth's life back when life was simple in Port Royal, I wanted to cut that scurvy pirate down. James merely wanted the same retribution for me putting his Martha in danger. I understood it, but I did not accept it. As hard as he pushed me, I pushed him back with a warning even my most wicked mariners would obey. It was a moment to prove myself—that I hadn't gone soft.

Once a crew thinks their captain has gone soft, there'll be a mutiny. And right now, a mutiny on a ghost ship with a real threat about is the last thing I need. What I need is answers and a solution. Whatever has been haunting my ship needs to be vanquished, immediately.


	9. Chapter 9: The Lull

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 9: The Lull

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me. Also the lullaby in this chapter is written by Sir Harold Boulton.

--

"Capt'n, sir," Weatherby interrupted Turner from his captain's log. The boy was practically shaking with trepidation. "Might I ask, sir, what is happening?" His usually lively eyes seemed dimmer, secured away. The boy was as spooked as the rest of Turner's crew and he hadn't even seen the body.

Captain Turner felt a bit out his element with the boy. He could tell the lad was intelligent and willing to learn, but William was not altogether sure what would be appropriate for a boy with only seven or eight years under his belt, especially when the topic had grown men twice, thrice, and four times the lad's age scared out of their wits. Yet there was something inside him, something that said he had to be the one to inform this boy of the certain dangers surrounding the ship, like a father to a son.

He took the boy's hands, and while mentally noting their ice cold temperature, he led the boy farther away from some of the ruckus occurring around them on the lower deck. "There is something haunting this ship, boy," Captain Turner began. He felt it best to tell the lad exactly what he knew, albeit how little it was. All souls aboard had a right to know the dangers they were in. "We don't know what it is or where it came from, but this whatever-it-is is haunting this ship like a curse."

Weatherby took that knowledge in and soaked it up like a sponge. The wee gears were turning in his head faster than a spinning top on Christmas morn. "What did it do, Captain?"

"It killed a man, one of my men."

"…but aren't your men dead, sir?"

Captain Turner was taken aback. So, the boy at least knew that his crew was dead, but what about himself? "Aye, they are current members of the undead."

"Like the crew of the Flying Dutchman?"

"They are the crew of the Flying Dutchman."

"I thought as much, but you aren't Davy Jones," he spoke confidently before second-guessing himself, "are you, Captain?"

In spite of all the madness aboard the ship and even in spite of himself, Captain Turner laughed. "No, I'm not Davy Jones, boy. I'm Captain William Turner, current captain of the Flying Dutchman. You could say ol' Davy Jones was relieved of his duties eight years ago."

"So, this is a ghost ship doomed to sail the seven seas for all eternity?"

"Aye, it is," Captain Turner couldn't help but smile, "in a manner of speaking, of course."

"Then why aren't you all dead?" Once the can of worms had been opened there was no turning back. This boy could probably inquire until doomsday, asking questions, seeking answers.

"We _are_ dead, lad…just as dead as you."

"But I ain't dead. I'm breathing and living and…" With every word, Weatherby grew quieter until the very last syllables were barely squeaks, "I'm dead?"

Sympathy filled the captain. How could one not know he was dead? It was a sensation as old as time itself and as familiar as the sensation of being alive. So familiar, in fact, that most often people took the feeling for granted until they lost it, until the other sensation replaced it. Sure, sometimes it took a couple of hours to pinpoint it exactly, the loss of one's own life, the casting off of one's own humanly shell. It always started when the heart stopped beating and the lungs quit taking in oxygen. Then the sensation would dig deeper into a soul, pulling it outside a body. Souls knew when they were free of the body, souls knew when their bodies were dead. But this boy did not.

"Weatherby," the captain asked solemnly, "Do you fear death?"

--

"Capt'n!" a sailor shouted in search of Turner, interrupting the holy ritual of inquiry between ferrier and soul.

"Gunner," Captain Turner's eyes flashed, "Now is _not_ the time."

"But it is, Capt'n. I followed your orders, sir, did a head count of every passenger and crew."

"And? Get on with it already."

"You hafta see this for yerself, Capt'n. Something cut out Wyvern's tongue!"

--

As the night sky fell over the ship, the Captain and his crew were resolved not to rest, not to sleep, not on this night. Something or someone was threatening the souls Captain Turner ferried, whether they be passengers or crew. Something was definitely aboard this vessel. One man dead, another mutilated. No, no man, woman, or child was allowed to wander the decks freely. No sailor was allowed to go off in search of any noise by himself. These orders would be obeyed or there would be more twice deaths on the Flying Dutchman.

The moon graced its light upon the ghost ship as the little mother began gathering her boys for bed. Weatherby and Jack walked side by side bravely despite their fears, as the little mother opened her mouth to sing lulling the baby in her arms to sea.

_Sleep my child and peace attend thee,  
All through the night  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' vigil keeping,  
All through the night_

_Angels watching, e'er around thee,  
All through the night  
Midnight slumber close surround thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night._

The sailors that had already begun to look after the family found this tune soothing. As for the others, while they did not as attentively listen, their ears did tune into the song. It was lulling.

Within a couple of hours, every ghostly soul that had heard the enchanting lullaby found their eyelids growing heavy. Sleep was fast becoming an enticing inclination, despite years of wakeful nights. All souls, save a few, began to sleep and as the drowsiness rose so did the danger.

--

Author's Note: So you guys figured out what's going on yet? In the next chapter all will be revealed. :)


	10. Chapter 10: The Daughters of Achelous

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 10: The Daughters of Achelous

**Disclaimer: **Pirates of the Caribbean belong to Disney. The mythological charactersbelong to whoever owns the copyright on Greek mythology. The plot is my own as well as _some_ of the mythology.

--

The eternal sea was eerily calm and the wind was strangely dead. In the past two days, the Flying Dutchman had hardly sailed nary an inch let alone anyway closer to the land of the dead; and now most of the crew were so sound asleep that it didn't seem to matter. Sailors had dropped like flies on the lower decks; men slept wherever there was space while others slept on top of those who had found space. Some snored, but nobody woke up. The ship of ghosts snoozed away in their stationary ship while five beings kept their eyes awake.

--

The three generations of women—mother, wife, and babe—were the first to roam freely. They smiled their feral grins wickedly at one another as they went in search of bodies and souls. For tonight would be a night of feasts. These women were birds of prey hunting for just the right meal, a sailor sleeping away from his crew, a mariner too intent on sleeping to notice his skin being torn away from the body of his soul. As the women's bellies began to rumble, their bodies changed from women into beasts. For from each of their fingers and toes there grew bird-like talons sharp as knives and deadlier to souls than claws.

--

The only two men who happened not to be asleep at that moment were Captain Turner and old Bootstrap. It wasn't by some luck or charm that they had avoided the spell cast upon the rest of the ship. No, it was simply that their ears had been too far away to hear the lullaby that put the remainder of the crew asleep.

Bootstrap had remained the helm despite there being little enough to steer what with no wind and no waves, but he was faithful to his captain and son, so at the helm he remained.

Captain Turner, on the other hand, had been too far beneath the singing lady to hear her tune for he had gone in search of Wyvern. The poor old man indeed had had his tongue cut out and could only look bewildered when Turner asked who did it. A storyteller without a tongue made for a sad scene indeed, but the fact that he didn't dare try to communicate who his mutilators were made the scene even sadder. Wyvern's tongue and will to speak were gone, simply gone. It was as if old Wyvern had simply given up and wanted nothing more than to become once more a part of the barnacled planks he so dearly loved. Wyvern might as well have been dead.

The captain puzzled over the whole affair below the upper decks while he furtively tried to piece all the occurrences together. Only one phrase stuck out his mind, the thing that had spooked Wyvern so much before he had his tongue chopped out: the daughters of Achelous.

--

As Captain Turner climbed the stairs between the decks, he was amazed at how quiet the ship was. There were no games or rabble rearing, no whispers or rumbles. The ship was ironically dead silent.

--

"Capt'n Turner, is that you?" Bootstrap called as a man walked near him dazed.

"Aye," his son returned.

"Quiet night, we're having."

"Quite a night, indeed," the captain mumbled before focusing on his father. He needed answers and his father seemed to be the only one on this God forsaken ship that was awake enough to hold a conversation. "Mr. Turner," he began in a clearer more serious tone, "What do you know of the daughters of Achelous?"

--

Now any old superstitious sailor can tell you of the daughters of Achelous if they've sailed enough seas with enough other superstitious sailors. To the Greeks, Achelous was the chief of all the water deities and from his broken horn were born his daughters, the Sirens. Broken by whom, you ask? Herakles, of course, the same damned soul who tried to steal Cerberus and eventually had Charon imprisoned for the trouble. That hero was worth far less than his salt, at this point. For without his selfish deeds, there would have been no lineage of ferriers nor would there have been Sirens in which to plague to current ferrier.

And in the world of the living, sailors had a good right to fear the Sirens, for while they were beautiful, they were just as fatal. Half bird, half woman these women would call out to ships passing by, singing so serenely that they lured men's hearts into sailing closer to their little island. But it must be said, that the Isle of Anthemusa was not safe for the ships of men. Surrounded by jagged cliffs and sharp rocks, the island wrecked nearly every ship, boat, or vessel that sailed towards it. So as the Sirens sang, men sailed towards their death not knowing their ships would wreck, their men would drown, or that the lovely Sirens would come out to pick at the bones of the survivors. Beautiful though they were, they were deadly vixens.

Only two ships in the history of mankind had been able to sail past the Isle of Anthemusa safely. The first was captained by Odysseus, a fearsome and crafty warrior. The gods who favored him warned him of the deadly island and its even more dangerous inhabitants before any of the men could hear the Sirens' alluring song. Odysseus, wise and resourceful, but ever curious, ordered his men to tie him to the mast before plugging their ears with wax. The Sirens sang a most seducing melody and Odysseus begged and pleaded to be let go. He wanted to embrace the Sirens, embrace the rocky shore. His thoughts were being driven to madness as he implored his crew to let him go, but the wax in their ears prevented any of them from hearing either the Siren's song or their captain's entreaty. Once the ship had safely passed the island, Odysseus regained his senses and motioned with his eyebrows to be released from the mast. They had all survived.

The second ship to survive the Siren seduction was the Argo. Captain by Jason, a hero in his own time, and accompanied by Orpheus, a musician beyond any human comparison, the ship was able to sail past the Isle of Anthemusa with relative security. For when Orpheus first heard the melodic and alluring notes reach his sensitive ears, he began to play and sing a song more enchanting and beautiful. The Sirens sang until their throats were raw, but the Argonauts, save one, remained un-enticed. Orpheus, by far, was the better musician. The one man that heard the haunting tunes of the Sirens behind Orpheus' song also had enough comrades concerned enough for his own safety to hold him back from jumping overboard.

Refusing to acknowledge failure, in both occurrences the Sirens screamed in fury and took to the waves, forgetting themselves that their island was surrounded with perilous rocks and cliffs. Some of those bird-like women survived, of course, but most did not. The waves and the rocks shattered their once immortal bodies. Fearing for his dear daughters, Achelous demanded a retribution that the gods would not grant, could not grant. Instead Neptune, then pitying Achelous, allowed for the Sirens to change form from feathers to fins, to become one with his charges, merpeople, but as they began to transform their hearts turned stone. What is that saying about a woman scorned?

Up until that time, the merfolk, while wily were not wicked, but the Sirens that survived took vengeance on any man they could find. For they believed the fault lied with man for stripping them of their immortality, for turning them from immortal bird into mortal fish. Hence the sea tales began to speak of mermaids squeezing the life out of men as they drowned or distracting sailors to madness. Other tales told of mermaids, when they spoke to men, whispering hauntingly that their ships would never see land again. Mermaids were no longer mere sea creatures, but predecessors of doom.

--

"Even an old Italian painter and engineer is said to have written warnings against them. The daughters of Achelous are a nasty business. Why do you ask, son?"

Captain William Turner, had he still had a beating heart, would have said it stopped in that moment. With his face pace and his usually steady hands beginning to shake, he returned his father's question with an inquiry of his own, "Have the Sirens ever been known to climb aboard a ship?"

Bootstrap thought for just a second. "Yes."

"Have either merfolk or Siren been seen on this side of the horizon?"

Now it was Bootstrap's turn to turn pale. "Manning and Bale were bragging three days ago that they saw a mermaid's tale, Capt'n. Said they called out to it and it splashed them in the face. Said she was the prettiest thing they ever did see."

The two sailors looked at each other and saw fear reflected in both their eyes. The prettier the precursor, the deadlier the doom.

--

"Yes, he'll do for tonight," the little mother chirped as she picked at her talons.

"Fear subdued in sleep is a highly potent seasoning, don't you agree, Peisinoe," the wee baby cackled as she licked her lips.

"Yes, sister of mine, a highly addictive euphoric seasoning; just imagine what a captain's fear will taste like when all his hope and purpose is lost," Peisinoe, the little mother, replied to the infant Aglaope, while their other sister Thelxiepeia crunched on the bones of Manning's hand.

--

**Author's Note: **So, how do ya'll like the story thus far? Go on, hit the review button and tell me! I love reading what you guys and gals think!

Oh and as for the vague reference about that old Italian painter and engineer:

Leonardo DaVinci wrote in one of his notebooks, "_The siren sings so sweetly that she lulls the mariners to sleep; then she climbs upon the ships and kills the sleeping mariners."_ Creepy, no?


	11. Chapter 11: Lost Souls

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 11: Lost Souls

Disclaimer: I do not own William Turner, Bootstrap, or Wyvern. They belong to the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise owned by Disney. The plot is my own.

Shout-out to: dancergrl19 for catching my shameful typo in Chapter 10. It has now been fixed.

--

It is the destiny for every man to one day meet his maker, but as the sweat trickled down the back of his neck, Captain Turner prayed that tonight would not be the night to have that particular destiny fulfilled. He held a sword in one hand and a pistol in another. For there was no telling which one would come in handy against a Siren's soul.

The ship, as silent as a grave, creaked beneath the pressure of each well placed footstep. Each creak echoed against the night sky. Tonight was not a good night to die. No, for as dead as William Turner might be, he had too much left to live for to die at the hands or claws of some femme fatal. As he reached for the old brass knob to his captain's quarters, the room he knew housed the two women with warm hands, he took a breath and began to twist the handle…

--

Thelxiepeia, the one called Martha, craned her neck and ear towards the sound. "I hear a soul a'stirring," she tauntingly warned as her two sisters began to smile and sneer.

--

As the door scraped open against the hard wood floors, Captain Turner found neither head nor tail of any feminine form lurking about; and the breath he did not realize he had been holding released. Inside his cabin were two boys sleeping with their rumps in the air and the young husband softly snoring. There was no sign of their female companions.

"Wake up, you blustering idiots!" the captain hissed. He no longer cared that these three were his passengers to be regarded with dignity. He no longer cared that they were exhausted or scared. Captain Turner could almost feel his blood boil with rage that these three could sleep so peacefully while their dangerous companions ambled who knew where doing who knew what about his ship. One man had already been eaten, another mutilated, as far he knew. No, no, no. These three were not going to dream of sugar plums and apple grass if his crew was in danger. "I said, wake up!" He shoved the eldest in the hammock swinging between the portholes. He was tired of looking after passengers that thought they still had a right to sleep. "Get up!" With a final push, James fell from the hammock and hit the floor with a thud.

--

Aglaope corrected her sister, "Sounds like more than one is aware tonight, sisters."

--

James rubbed his sore head and glared daggers at the captain. "You didn't have to do that, sir."

"My ship, my rules. You have some questions to answer," he said as he more gently roused the two boys. "The first of which being where is your wife."

"I don't believe that's any concern of…" James began until he finally noticed his Martha was not in the room. "Where the blazes did she go?"

"That's just what I want to know," he replied harshly. Turner had precious little time on his hands to be polite, what with fearing the worst for his crew, but he did manage a softer tone for the boys. "Where be your ma?" he asked the boys rubbed the sleep from their eyes.

"I dunno, Capt'n," Weatherby said before looking at his brother. "She was here when we went to sleep."

Captain Turner locked the door. "Then, I want some answers." Something had not been right ever since he received these two batches of passengers. The sea had been concernedly calm; there were women with warm hands aboard; and for God's sake and his own sanity he needed to piece the puzzle together before anyone else was devoured while in his care. One thing he did know, though, these were the passengers ever to act as if the stench of death did not affect them. They were first not to know they were dead. "I want to know how you three died."

--

Weatherby, the least stunned by the inquiry, was the first to reply after a long pause. "Don't know exactly, Captain. I've been thinkin' on it myself, and I just can't place it."

"What's the last thing you remember, then, boy?"

Jack shoved his brother a bit and gave him a bewildered look. Dead? Surely they weren't…dead, but the confident gaze Weatherby returned him confirmed it. They were dead, confound it.

"It's funny, really. We were out fishing and I saw this huge fin splash in the water and…"

"When you say we, boy," Captain Turner interrupted, "who exactly do you mean?"

"Well it was me…and…and…" he looked at his brother and for reason he couldn't seem to remember his name. Nor could he recall anyone else that had been in the boat with him. It was odd. The more he tried to remember details, the murkier the memories became.

The hairs began to rise on Turner's arms. Something definitely wasn't right about all this. Yet a tiny voice, the littlest inkling of a thing, in Will Turner's head told him to ask young Weatherby his name.

"And _who_ are you exactly?"

"Weatherby…Weatherby Swann." Captain Turner gulped as his blood ran cold.

"And you?" he asked the young husband. "Who are you?"

"James…James…" the man looked at Turner with a slightly confused expression, as if he knew what he was saying wasn't exactly true, but he couldn't help himself. "James Norrington."

"And you?" Captain Turner turned his eyes on the boy he had once compared to a firecracker, the one who couldn't sit still.

"Jack Sparrow."

--

Author's Note: Have a great weekend, everyone! I'll try to a get a new chapter posted Monday-ish. Reviews, flames, and constructive criticism always welcome!


	12. Chapter 12: Beginnings to the Truth

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 12: Beginnings to the Truth

Disclaimer: --sigh-- Nope don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean; Disney owns the whole franchise.

Author's Note: So, uh, yeah. Had some extra time, so I thought I'd whip up another chappy. Enjoy!

--

Will's mind reeled. Weatherby Swann, James Norrington, and Jack Sparrow. Could these three really be? No. They couldn't, could they? Then Captain Turner's mind snatched on a memory.

The real Weatherby Swann was already dead and on the other side. As one of his first duties as Captain of the Flying Dutchman, he had made absolutely sure that Elizabeth's father had arrived safely in the land of the dead. The real James Norrington was also dead, now that Turner thought about it. Elizabeth had told him how selflessly Norrington had traded his life for her freedom. Thus, when it came time to ferry Norrington's soul, certainly an awkward time passage, a week after Norrington had died from Davy Jones' sword, Turner hadn't even needed to inquire if Norrington feared death. No, Captain Turner knew for a fact that two of the souls these passengers were pretending to be had already arrived safely and securely in the land of the dead. He had seen to it personally, but Jack Sparrow was a different story entirely, as always.

Therefore, the captain turned his steely gaze on the boy. "What is the last thing _you_ remember?"

--

_The sun had been shining dreadfully upon young boy's back as he swabbed the deck. He had been scrubbing those old planks so hard his knuckles were bleeding, mixing his blood in with the salt water. The captain had ordered that the deck be clean or no supper; and the boy hadn't eaten in at least three days, so he would continue to scrub those decks until every last plank was clean and polished. By God or by golly, he wanted his supper tonight._

_Finally, that dreadful sun had begun to sink when he heard a noise, a splash, a tapping, a tapping-splash. At first he ignored it. The deck needed swabbing. Then another tap-tap-tap-splish-splash sounded just on the other side of the railing. He looked around the deck. None of the sailors were out and about; they had all gone down to eat their supper, a scrumptious gruel. Oh, how his belly ached. _

_Splash!_

_The boy couldn't ignore it any longer. He carefully placed his dirty mop rag and brush back inside his swabbing bucket before he stood and stretched his aching limbs. Slowly he crept over to the railing and looked over. Nothing. Just waves and water and more waves. Jack grunted and sighed; it was probably just the men on the lower decks, eating happily away. _

_But then he heard something else, something new. He quickly looked over the railings and saw a beautiful face looking back at him. She was absolutely the prettiest thing he had ever seen, so beautiful in fact that any idea of calling "Woman overboard" immediately jumped out of his head. He just wanted to stare at her. _

"_Boy," she cooed. "Boy, come down and play."_

_He felt his limbs respond to her voice. He was taking off his shoes before he could even stop himself. _

"_Boy, come swim with me. I'll show you things you've only just dreamed of. I'll show the world beneath the sea. Come down. Come play," she laughed and he couldn't control himself. At the ripe age of twelve, he felt at that moment that he was a man and she a woman. He dove in the water just to be near her. Then…blackness._

--

Captain Turner repeated, "Jack, I asked you a question. What's the last thing you remember?"

The boy looked the captain, at the boy next to him, and the young man sitting across from him. "Nothing. I remember nothing."

"Bollocks," Captain Turner returned.

"No, really," the boy insisted as he looked straight into the captain's eyes. That was when Turner noticed the boy's eyes were green, while he knew the real Jack Sparrow's eyes were the color of mud.

Sure there were striking similarities between each and the person he said he was, but Weatherby was not Elizabeth's father; James was not a Commodore; and Jack was definitely not _the_ Jack Sparrow. If none of these were who they said were, then who were they?

"Weatherby said you and he were out fishing. Were you?"

"No, sir. I was on a ship." Wait, didn't he just say he remembered nothing? Yet, Jack seemed just as surprised as Turner. "Yeah, I was on a ship…and…and…and I was hungry." He looked at the captain excitedly before furrowing his brow. Things, memories, moments were rushing back. The right questions were getting different answers, different responses than what these boys were trained to say.

Captain Turner felt a sudden need to rephrase one of his previous questions. "Who _were_ you?"

"Albert. Me ma, she called me Albert." The boy grinned, he knew his true name.

"And was your ma the one who's been caring for ya on this ship?"

"No," he looked over at Weatherby before adding, "and I've never seen 'em in my life either."

Captain Turner's head began to ache. Just what sort of convoluted hell had he sailed himself into?

--

Asking the right questions would take too long, that Captain Turner knew for sure. It was as each of his passengers had been taught like trained monkeys. They said one thing, but then their faces would screw up as if something deep inside them said it wasn't true. Only if the right question was asked could they answer honestly, and time was running too short to try and ask a bunch of right questions in the midst of wrong ones. No, Captain Turner had to piece what he had together now before any more of his men were cut, eaten, or worse.

--

So, he had mermaid Sirens on board. Both species on their own were known to lure men, but Sirens as mermaids were apparently the deadliest combination. As far he knew, there were two of them, two women with warm hands. They ate Bale after he had seen one and they cut the tongue out of Wyvern after he had named them. They gave, he assumed, fake names to their companions, names that he would know: Weatherby Swann, James Norrington, Jack Sparrow…baby Elizabeth, and Martha, his mother's name.

As much information as the captain had, however, Turner still felt at a loss. He didn't possess the two most valuable pieces of information he needed. What did the Sirens want with him and his crew? And more importantly, how did you kill one?

"Oh, bugger," he mumbled.


	13. Chapter 13: A Few Last Words

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 13: A Few Last Words

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

--

Captain's Log

8 Years, 11 Months, 5 Days, 22 Hours

Every hour a day; every day an eternity…an eternity with her.

I hardly have the time to write this, but as a log of all happenings, this must be written.

In the last fifteen hours since I last put my pen to paper, I have learned there may be Sirens aboard my ship pretending to be souls in need of passage. I do not know what they want, or why they appeared as lost souls. They have taken on names, names that I alone value significantly. I cannot help but wonder if they intend on biting into my soul; if my soul was the very bait that made them come.

My crew sleeps as they wander the decks. Occasionally I can hear scutterings above and below me, but whether they are rats or Sirens, I cannot be sure.

The only thing I am sure of is that this ship is in danger and I am not sure how to stop it...them. If these are my last words, I hope to God that Elizabeth can forgive me…

--

Author's Note: Lucky chapter 13! Yes, I know it's short, it's supposed to be.


	14. Chapter 14: Hell's Bells

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 14: Hell's Bells

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own any of the Pirate of Caribbean characters. All-mighty Disney owns them, but while Disney wasn't looking, I took the characters out of their little cages and let them romp about my story. The song "Hoist the Colors" either belongs to Disney or Hans Zimmer or the screenwriters, or all four. And for good measure, I'll also take the opportunity to cite my ship's bells knowledge comes from the FAQ on www.history.navy.mil. Phew, long disclaimer.

--

Will looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He gripped them into fists until his knuckles turned white. The shaking stopped. Now was the time to act.

--

The sisters three licked their talons and cleaned their blood smudged faces. They had gorged themselves on a total of three men on this night. The blood and flesh had been invigorating and had restored many latent abilites, but it still hadn't cured them of their curse—the curse of mortality. No, only one man aboard this ship could do that, could cure them and bring back their immortal status. The only man aboard with a destiny still to be had, with more than one destiny, many destinies. Only such a man possessed the blood that could bring them back and that man bore the name William Turner.

The Siren siblings smiled at one another. "Let us retrieve our dearest playmate. Come out and play Mr. Turner, Captain of Souls…" they cooed before extending their talons once more.

--

Captain Turner raced up the stairs, bounding two or three at a time. His passengers, the three male counterparts to the feminine dangers, would be safe as he risked everything. They were locked away in his cabin with the captain's log. If nothing else, they would hold his legacy while he fought, while his men fought. He would ferry them as long as he was able. He would do his duty.

Turner seized clapper to the alarm bell and rang it rapidly for five seconds before clearly banging three clangs, as is the warning for fire in the aft. If he knew only one thing, he knew this bell and alarm had been hardwired into his crew's heads. They would not, could not, sleep through a fire alarm, especially since many of his sailors did not know how to swim. They feared fire like they feared death.

Men began to scurry below deck. They were waking up. Several were even surprised they had fallen asleep at all as they grabbed for buckets and pushed the heavier sleepers awake. A scream was heard. Someone had found another marled body, but there was no standing and staring now. Fire aboard a ship was more important, more crucial than a dead body. They rushed to meet Captain Turner, ready to fight against flames, ready to fight for their lives.

To be sure, many were upset and confused when their captain told them there wasn't a fire. Some grumbled, some shouted. But when their captain said the word "Siren" all became quiet. In a few rushed words, he explained that tonight there were fearsome females aboard. They were the ones to blame for the carnage and terror; and they were the ones he was going to fight.

Captain Turner then looked into the crowd of faces before him most earnestly. "We need to reach our heading with our passengers and crew as alive we get. Right now, we're sitting ducks and they'll only eat every last one of us till we won't even have the option of fearing death." He watched how his sailors weighed that information. "I need every on of ya in the hold, rowing. The wind is dead, mates, and that's the only way we can this ol' ship to move; else we die. We have got to row."

His men were leery and weary, but Turner could tell they trusted him. Oh how to God he wished he had beeswax on board to protect them from the Siren's song, or a talented musician. He didn't trust the women aboard not to put them back into their comatose state. He didn't trust the women period.

"Some men have died," he began to shout the pirate anthem they all knew so well. "And some are alive and others sail on the sea."

Downcast eyes looked up. Downcast faces began to show hope. "With the keys to the cage, and the Devil to pay we lay to the Fiddler's Green!" They all began to chant. "The bell has been raised from its watery grave…Do you hear its sepulchral tone? We are a call to all, pay head to the squall and turn the sail toward home! Yo, ho, haul together, hoist the colors high! Heave, ho, Thieves and Beggars, NEVER SHALL WE DIE!"

Yes, part of the ship, part of the crew. They would row.

--

The women looked above towards the upper deck. They grimaced at the racket, Aglaope in particular. "The men are awake," she said. "Now the fun begins."

--

Author's Note: So, that seems like a good place to stop for now, right?


	15. Chapter 15: Sirens' Song

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 15: Sirens' Song

Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Please don't sue me for using them. Oh and the lovely sea shanty in this chapter is "The Banks of Sweet Loch Ray."

--

Not a single breeze stirred the waters. Not a single wisp of the wind flapped the sails. The men sauntered down the old ship's steps toward the hull. By gosh and by golly they were going to row; for their very undead lives depended on it.

--

Will looked towards his father at the helm. "Keep to the heading, whatever you do," he said as he tucked his pistol in his belt. The time was now.

--

The Sirens extended their bird-like talons. Peisinoe, Aglaope, and Thelxiepeia were all ready to play. Peisinoe took the infant in her arms, nestled safely. Thelxiepeia licked her lips as Aglaope began to hum.

It was a soft tune, a haunting tune. It was the song that men heard when they were boys sailing the ocean for the first time. It was the song that women heard when they first learned they were widows. It was the deadliest, most haunting song of them all—the song of the sea; the Sirens' Song.

Many writers and poems and musicians have tried to capture it over the centuries. Sometimes they would get two notes correct, three if they were extremely lucky; but for most the tune eluded even the best composers. For it was the song of true longing and love, hope and despair. The sea has tempted many with such a song, heard between the crashes of the waves, beginning just as one gust of wind died before another began. The mere hum of it tempted men to leave their wives, to long for the open sea, but the words, oh the words could kill a man. The words were as ancient as time itself. Once the sea came into being, the song was there. When the sun lights upon the waters or the break of a wave alights with foam, the song is there. This was the song that little Aglaope began to hum. This was the tune that sharpest earred sailors heard before falling victim. This was the song of the Sirens.

--

Mason, Gilbert, and Sullivan were the first to fall. Each had been listening too hard to the creaks and moans of the Flying Dutchman. Each had been waiting for some sound that indicated danger. None of them realized as the sweetest melody reached their ears; it would be the last sound they would ever hear.

Soon all sanity broke away. The only thoughts or half thoughts that remained in these men were to find her, she that sang. They wanted to touch her, hold her, be one with her. She was the sea and the sea was them. Water. Bubbles. Waves. Storms. Heartbreak.

The orderly line traveling towards the hull was no longer orderly. It was chaos. Half the men still trudged down the steps as the other half balked, turned, and began to run towards the sweet deadly music. The ones too old or too deaf to hear didn't understand why the boys and young men scrambled away. The younger set didn't understand nor care why their elders resisted the call. More music for them, more of the mistress of the sea. Some tried to stop these young fellows, tried to push them back in line. Then all hell broke lose.

--

The Sirens smiled as they moved unnoticed about the ship. They could hear the fighting in the aft stairwells. Bones were being broken, shouts were being made. It was music to their ears.

With the crew so otherwise occupied, they went to the starboard side to find their captain dear. Surely the fear in him had risen to his eyeballs, by now. Surely his blood and bones would now be primed for the eating. Then they could once more savor their immortality. He was the key to their survival. He was the key to defeating death.

They climbed the stairs slowly, step by step, feeling the anticipation of finally sinking their teeth into Captain William Turner.

--

Captain Turner could hear the ruckus going on beneath his feet. There was smashing and crashing. He looked towards his father. "Keep to the heading!" he shouted before running towards the noise.

Just as he reached the doorframe of the aft stairs and peered into the dimly lit pandemonium of fighting, he heard a crisp and clear feminine voice call. "Oh, Captain Turner," the little mother cooed with her babe nestled in the crook of her arm. "Have you seen my boys? I can't seem to find them anywhere." She smiled her eerily sweet smile.

Over her shoulder, Captain Turner could see Martha holding his father, a talon at his throat. He tried to gulp and felt his mouth parched. "They aren't your boys, are they?" he managed to spit out.

"Oh they're my boys all right. They gave their souls to me the moment they entered my embrace. From me, they were reborn."

William reached for his pistol.

"Now, play nice," Thelxiepeia ordered coyly. "We wouldn't want there to be any…accidents." She pressed her talon closer to Bootstraps' neck. "Would we?"

While Bootstraps' eyes were wide, William could tell his father wanted him to risk it anyway. He no longer feared death, whatever form of nonexistence his death would be. Will fired the pistol straight into the heart of the mother.

The bullet did no good. It went through her as if she were nothing more than the mist of a salty sea. "Tsk, tsk, Captain," she tutted before turning her head. "Kill him, sister, kill his beloved father."

"NO!" Will shouted. He was dumbfounded by what had just transpired, but he was not willing to allow them to kill his father. Not like this, not now.

Fortunately for him, the sisters were intrigued. His attachment to his father was stronger than they thought. He was almost ready. Hope had to be lost. They gave him two more seconds to stare at his father.

"Say goodbye, William." Thelxiepeia sliced open the old man's throat before throwing his body to the ground.

"Nooo!" Turner howled before rushing towards his father, but Thelxiepeia stood in his way. He grabbed for his sword. He would force his way towards his father if need be, but the Sirens just chuckled at him.

"It's useless, William," the mother commented both on the status of his father and his attempt with his sword. "Haven't you learned? You cannot kill us. You will not survive this."

But Captain Turner was not listening to Peisinoe. Anger was filling every pore, every cell of his being right down to the core. Fear was replaced with loathing and he felt his skin begin to boil. Ordinary corpses should not be able to pump blood through veins, but he was no ordinary corpse. He was the captain of the Flying Dutchman and heat began to radiate off him as much as the sisters. Fury enveloped him and a cloud burst overhead in the windless sky.

The world and sea of the undead began to storm.

"Another destiny?" whispered Peisinoe to Aglaope, mystified.

"What do YOU _WANT?_" the captain demanded with his sword grasped firmly in his hot fist. He was turning slowly towards the one he thought was the ring leader, the little mother. "You come on _my_ ship, endanger _my_ crew," he began to slash his sword around. If it wouldn't kill them, he hoped to God and to hell it would frighten them. "What in the name of hell, do you WANT?"

"You," the infant spoke. Talons and tentacles slithered from underneath her little dress. Her eyes began to glow an unearthly white. "You, dear William, are the one to free us, to give us back our immortality. We only want to eat your soul. Now break him," she ordered.

Thelxiepeia grabbed his shoulders. She was ten times stronger than she looked. He struggled against her, but it was no use. She held him firmly as the mother and child began to sing.

The song was ordinary enough, an old sea shanty any sailor worth his salt had heard. The words were relatively unimportant, but the voice in which they sang chilled him. They sang not with their own voices, but with Elizabeth's.

_I am as poor a distressed maid  
As ever yet was known.  
By love I'm captivated  
Which is proved my overthrow.  
When herding out my father's flocks  
By accidence did stray  
It was there I met my sailor bold  
On the banks of sweet Loch Ray._

He tried to cover his ears, but found he couldn't. His arms would not obey.

_"Good morning to you, fair maid," he said,  
With a heart so free  
"And would you be contented  
To go along with me?  
I will dress you like Queen Helen  
All in your Grecian style  
And when we'll go to the town of Boyle  
I will there make you my bride."  
_

"No, stop it." The voice was killing him. He felt as if his heart was breaking.

_With a modest blush this fair maid said,  
"Your suit I must deny  
For I am no way fitting  
To be a sailor's bride.  
Far from my native country  
I am not inclined to stray  
For my heart would break were I to leave  
The banks of sweet Loch Ray."_

Peisinoe stepped closer to him. She caressed his cheek as he struggled to pull away from her touch.

_"Fair maiden, I will not ask you  
To leave your native place.  
We will here set down and court awhile  
All in this silent place,  
We will set down and court awhile  
Among the flowers so gay  
And herd your sheep as they do feed  
On the banks of sweet Loch Ray."_

Peisinoe then held out the infant with tentacles and talons just gracing his chest. The scar began to burn as if on fire.

_Rolled up in the rapture of the night  
The time stole slowly on.  
My love has taken flight  
And from me he has gone.  
I'll never love a young man,  
I never loved any young man half so well  
And where to find my sailor bold  
I'm sure I cannot tell.  
_

Every thought was on Elizabeth. She was his anchor and he had left her. He had left her on that little island as the sun began to sink. He had sailed away. Now he might not get to sail back. "Elizabeth," he thought, "forgive me…"

_My sailor bold he's gone from me  
And he's crossed o'er the Main.  
I mean for to live single  
Until he returns again.  
A crown of gold I would bestow  
And at his feet I'd lay.  
I'd bid adieu forevermore  
To the banks of sweet Loch Ray._

The infant Siren began to carve into his chest as the rain pelted down. His father—dead. His crew—fighting themselves to death. His passengers—not ferried. And Elizabeth…Elizabeth.

Blood ran down his chest as the sisters gathered around, hungrily awaiting a moment, the moment his soul died. _Elizabeth_, was the last word he thought before he began to laugh.

--

Author's Note: Please review!!


	16. Chapter 16: Everything Has Led To This

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 16: Everything Has Led to This

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

--

_Elizabeth…_

_He held the chest in hands, his beating, vulnerable heart. "It's always belonged to you. Will you keep it safe?"_

--

The rain mixed with his blood, dripping down his chest in streams. He was soaked through and about to die. Time itself seemed slower. These were the moments when he was supposed to reflect, watch as his life flashed before his eyes. _Elizabeth_. He blinked. Their talons and tentacles were digging around in his chest; but there was no pain. It didn't matter anymore because at that moment he knew the truth and he laughed.

"YOU CAN'T KILL ME!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, spitting the words into the mother's face. They all clawed at him more and seethed, but he just laughed. "_You_ can't kill _me_; not on this side of the horizon."

His heart was safe in a dead man's chest; but that chest was no longer attached to his body. Kill a man's heart; kill the man. Yet, these wenches were on the wrong side of the horizon to kill him. They needed to be alive, or at least in the world of the living, in order to put him in his grave.

Aglaope dug deeper, slicing things that should never be sliced, but it only caused Captain Turner to laugh harder as if she were merely tickling him. It was infuriating. She fumed in her little infant form. No more, she decided. No longer was this form doing her any good. Thus her wee body began to grow into the truly hideous creature she was.

Peisinoe gasped as she dropped the changeling.

Talons and tentacles were merely the beginning. Aglaope glowed an eerie green as razor sharp fins sprouted from her arms. Feathers and spikes arose from her back. Her hair turned into eels, snapping electric eels sizzling as the storm raged. She was truly a fearsome sight.

William gulped as his laughter died. The baby was a monster, a huge hideous monster, that wanted to eat him. "Heh, heh…oh bugger."

--

Now it must be said that in the moment Captain Turner realized the Sirens couldn't kill him, he had a plan. Unfortunately, that plan did not include an eight foot tall hell demon bent on revenge. He had thought the ring leader of their little party was the mother, not the baby. Suddenly, he began to think that laughing in the face of danger had not been best idea.

Yet, he also noticed that the giant she-demon's companions were equally as surprised as he. Curious and wickedly dangerous, yes, but not without its benefits. Taking the opportunity towards his advantage, he elbowed Thelxiepeia in the ribs. As she gasped, he wrangled himself free from her hold.

Captain Turner then took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly, and charged at the gruesome giant.

--

The men on the stairs suddenly heard a loud and ferocious battle cry, "Arrrrrgggggh." Somehow, it was that sound that broke the siren's spell over them. For it was the truest sound, the emotionally charged voice of their captain, their protector, in heated battle. A few men dropped their cutlasses as other followed through on their punches. Most of the men were dazed as they looked at their hands in bewilderment. Some of their comrades were dead at their feet. Yet as they continued to hear their captain bellow, they knew they had a mission still at hand. They had to row.

--

Captain Turner hacked at the beast as she clawed back at him.

"You won't survive this, William Turner!" Aglaope shouted. "Your immortality shall be mine!"

William was serious now. No laughter erupted from his lips. He was tired of this, all this. Things hadn't been right since these women boarded his ship. Now was the time to end this madness. Now was the time to show just what the captain of the Flying Dutchman could do. Fury, not fear, filled his soul to the brim. The sails began to flap with a gentle wind; then a stronger gust. Beneath his feet he could feel the ship lurch forward. His crew was at the oars. They were moving as he rammed his sword into the beast's belly.

"You. Will. Fail." He said, making sure each Siren heard him. "You will fail like you did in life. Then you will die."

Only failure lured the beasts away. Only failure to devour, to truly destroy could convince monsters that the same rules did not apply on this side of the horizon. Failing would kill these women.

--

After an hour of fighting and sailing, the land of the dead was in sight. It had been so close all this time.

Peisinoe and Thexliepeia screamed. Aglaope gnashed her teeth at the captain's head. All of them knew a profound moment was about to be. They would either devour Turner or death would devour them; but the captain continued to evade them while simultaneously cutting them. Fire danced in his eyes. He was no ordinary man with an ordinary destiny. He was William Turner, Captain of the Flying Dutchman.

--

Souls of the dead saw the ship, the ship that had once ferried them across the eternal waters. They waved and cheered, welcoming home their savior ship to the land of the dead.

--

The women screamed in anguish. They were failing. Captain Turner's soul never died, but lived eternally with the very immortality they coveted.

Jagged rocks and harsh sea waves began to call them. The bird had lied. Sparrow had lied. Now their chance was gone, immortality was but the vanishing dream. All three women could feel the tug of their souls. They were dead, really dead.

They howled as the music began to escape them. Talons reverted into fingers; tentacles into feet. They were dying and becoming less than what they were. No longer Siren nor mermaid, their forms became human, ferried souls.

--

Author's Note: Hmmm. One chapter left. So, if you have any unanswered questions, you may want to post them in the review section. Cheers!


	17. Chapter 17: Reflections and Endnotes

Ferrier of Souls

Chapter 17: Reflections and Endnotes

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters are not mine, they belong to Disney. I am however borrowing them for this story…yadda yadda yadda…no copyright infringement intended…yadda, yadda, yadda: please don't sue me.

--

Captain's Log

8 Years, 11 Months, 7 Days, 11 Hours

Every hour—a day; every day an eternity…an eternity of heaven and hell.

The last few days have been…draining.

Since I last held a pen in these rough and calloused hands, I discovered Sirens aboard this ship—Sirens who wanted to devour my very soul. If it hadn't been for the thought of my wife, they might have succeeded. When everything was at its most dire, she was—is—the one hope in my soul that will never die.

Those women, those monsters, almost broke me, though, when they attempted to kill my father. I should probably write now that "attempted" and "almost" are the operative words there. He and I both survived their attack. While I had Elizabeth, my father had his hands. He clutched his slit throat, gurgling in blood and breath, until we reached the land of the dead. Since he was determined not to die a double death that day, I had my crew fetch a shaman to heal my father's throat. Now he proudly walks about the upper decks, being one of the few to have survived a Siren's direct attack. He hides the scar behind his scarf and speaks with a bit of a rasp, but his eyes are confident. It takes more than a Siren to kill my old man.

As for the crew, some opted then to be allowed to die a peaceful death. I consented to those few men brave enough to request it. Having seen the horrors worse than death, I wanted to give them the chance to move on, fulfill their destiny as once mortals. For the men that have died aboard The Flying Dutchman, either at the hands of the Sirens or their enchanted shipmates, a mournful silence invaded the shores of the dead as we did the only thing we could. We built a funeral pyre and gave their undead souls the last rites. What became of those particular souls, I do not know, but we did what we could.

As for the Sirens…all their powers and transformations have been striped from their souls. They became humans, humans that had to be judged. My testimony was called for and I answered with a vengeance. The heathen gods will take their past actions against me, my crew, and my passengers into account. I foresee a hell dimension in their future.

My passengers, those poor boys, were ferried. I cannot begin to comprehend the full damage the Sirens did to their souls. They have but a few memories and Albert is the only one to remember his true name. The judging of their souls will be difficult for much of what is known lies with the silent Sirens.

I do not know why they chose my ship or my soul to eat. Ever since they reverted into human form, chained to this existence of death, they haven't spoken a word. Perhaps that is for the best.

My duty has been done in this instance. I ferried the souls. Now, as my ship leaves the eternal docks of the dead, I am going to continue my duty: find lost souls and ferry them to this land. For the next year, one month, 22 days, and 17 hours, I shall do this duty, this sentence, until I can once more place my foot upon the sand and embrace my Elizabeth.

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**The End…for now.**

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Author's Note: Hiya ya'll! I would like to sincerely thank all of you who've read, reviewed, and added me to your alerts or favorites. It has been a pleasure writing this little story and I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it along the way.

As per your questions, hopefully I answered most of them with this chapter. For example:

_**Did Bootstraps die?**_ Oh course not! Did you guys forget? Things aren't always as they seem.

_**Will it end with Will and Elizabeth getting back together**_ Um, uh…go watch At World's End after the credits.

_**Huh? What? What was that about Sparrow lying to the Sirens in the last chapter?**_ That was Jack being Jack on the other side of the horizon. So glad some of you caught that line, though. ;)

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So what's next? I dunno. I'm contemplating several different storylines that sorta tie in with this one. I might do one with Jack and the Sirens as a sort of prequel to this, or maybe something with Elizabeth and her son, or possibly a sequel to Ferrier of Souls with more adventures for our Captain Turner, or maybe none at all. Who knows?

As I debate my Muse on this, I will probably be fixing typos and some formatting issues for the next week. So if you see this particular story updating, that's probably what's going on.

Anyway, thanx again for reading. Review if you please. Cheers!


	18. Notification

Ferrier of Souls

Quick Author's Note:

To find out what happens next for Captain Turner and his undead crew, the next chapter/story has begun at Ferrier of Souls: Master of Tides.

I'll probably delete this chapter in a week or so, since it isn't really a chapter so much as notification. Cheers!


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